The storm clouds, they gather; rolling in with the menace of electric whips and rumbling thunder, prematurely blackening the sky, defiling the morning just as this desire corrupts my mind and debases this body, this woman weakened by the want, the myopic want for you and only you, the craving for your power and domination, for each of the lustful urges that tear your flesh to easy shreds and scar your very soul, the grip of fingers in my hair, your hand at the curve of my throat, your mouth feeding the debauchery of your own need into my poised and glistening lips, the trailing touch of rough digits itching to bury themselves into my molten core, the sex, the cunt throbbing, silently screaming your name, the deluge between my legs, the ultimate betrayal of my enduring hunger, the hunger not merely for the cock straining hard against the fabric but also the feast of your kiss, our skin fused and gleaming with the carnality of our fucking, with the fire burning deep within, the flames engulfing, reducing to dust these bodies and just as quickly resurrecting, giving sweet life as we clutch and shudder, as we surge and cry out together, as the tempest rages in here and the now and the elsewhere for us both.

The touch isn’t yours
But it should be
This woman isn’t yours
But she could be

The lands of untamed beauty so close to my fair city, they burn, engulfed in soaring flames, savagely reduced to ash and dust and smoke that finds its way here to me, that suffocates the ether, that morphs the sun and transforms its golden rays into streaks of the cruellest platinum.

Bathed in this blistering heat, in this false and unforgiving luminosity, I ache for the loss; my heart shatters at the devastation. And yet, I wait now, bare and exposed and alone, my skin gleaming with the sheen, shivering in fevered want, needing, hungry for the ruin of our own unique blaze, the fire my body refuses to forget and erase, the sensual softness of your touch and the sweet violence of your flesh as you open and take and possess me, as you consume my very soul, as you kiss these lips, giving life, taking breath, as you slide yourself deep inside me, my cunt clutching and flooding, fingers and nails scratching and drawing the blood that thunders through your veins, your hips thrusting the force of man into my feminine fragility, the thick hard cock that knows me and perfects me, fucks me and devours me, marks me and fills me until I come, until I break, until I cry out like an anguished animal on the brink of defeat.

The velvet shadows swathe me, possess me, sensually arc this expectant body,
surrendering this aching desire, this trembling femininity to the light, to its potency,
to its caressing lustre, the precursor to your own gleaming and provocative touch.

I miss you.

And the way things used to be.

And the way we were together.

And the fire – our fire – that would threaten to annihilate us both, sparked by the simplest word, the briefest gaze, the smallest sigh, the mere brush of bodies and fingers and trembling lips.

And the instant I felt you, felt you inside me, felt you deep in my flesh and my bones, felt you and your gaze and your weight and your voice as new and unknown and yet just like home.

And that moment, that one perfect moment where time stood still and the distance between us contracted and you genuinely craved my warmth, my truth, where we laid each other bare, stripped away the fear, the hesitation, all pretence, where we confessed it all with intimacy and absolution, where we revealed like never before, where we merged with lust and sin and tenderness, where we stood on the precipice, on the brink of something real, something more.

And the freedom of this desire – this desire for you – the freedom to feel it, to speak it, to live it and breathe it, to fuck it, to kiss and touch and devour each other until we moan and clutch and scream and come, until our bodies tremble in exhausted bliss, until they silently beg again for the glistening heat, to fuck you, to fuck it and fuck it up so absolutely you will dress me in your angry silence and cold resentment and I will shed big hot furious tears, to fuck it up, to tear us apart, to piece the shreds back together again with passion, with lightness, with careful words softly spoken, with easy steps and a gentle caress, with gestures verging on affection, on love.

You feel it. You sense it. I know.

Even as it is laid out here for you, in shades of grey, in black and white, for your eyes to clearly gaze upon and see, the reflection threefold, her and her and her, her and them and me, I know you scarcely require this fractured image before us both to sense it, to crave it, to seek out and inspire the multiplicity within me, the varied facets of my lust, the desires that scream through this body and mind, that rise up through my skin at each and every given moment as I inhale your scent, as I breathe you in, as you move in close, as you press your nakedness in tight, as the first touch of your hands along the curve of my litheness betrays an urgency, a carnal ferocity I hunger right along with you through the night, as you pull aside the sodden lace between my thighs and plunge the hard ache of your cock inside me in one selfishly perfecting sinuous stroke, as my sweet cunt soaks you, takes you, envelops and milks you yearning for the fire of your seed, my grinding hips, my pouting clit, my wet wanton sex, the nails drawing blood, digging into flesh at odds with the sensuality of my moan, my mewl, the hands wound about your nape, the whispers uttered from these lips, my passionate and searching kiss.

You feel it. You sense it. You recognise and yearn for it. Lover, this much I know.

Soaring into the night sky, bathed in neon, caressed by these city lights, I breathlessly await the perfection of your touch, the fingers dancing on this skin, your strong arm wound about my waist, the urgent hands drawing my hungry nakedness into the throbbing ache of your heat, the voracious cock nudging at the lips sodden with my lust, the thumb feeding itself into the mouth whimpering its need, the bodies locked together deep, pressed hard into the glowing crystal screen, our abandoned passion threatening to shatter glass and souls and flesh to dust.

For a touch… Just one touch… For a touch of your noir…

For a moment, for an hour, for a day, a week, a lifetime… For your hands, your lips, your mouth upon me… For your passion dark, abandoned, seething… For the body, for the flesh throbbing, insistent, incessant… For the man, for the beast, for you here in my bed, possessing the heat of my arching form, your dripping cock embedded to the breathtaking hilt in my sweet cunt…

For a touch… Just one touch… For a touch of this noir…

The time has come, lover. I have waited far too long.

My desire for you is threatening, fevered; my patience threadbare, worn.

I need you – need you now – to move in close, to shed your jacket, loosen your tie, to bind me, possess me, to take control, to run your hands along the perfumed nakedness lingering at your door, to expose this flesh, this smooth sex dripping its desperate heat, to bare this cunt to your carnal darkness, to your gaze and your fingers, to your hard voracious cock, to the parched mouth thirsty for a taste, to seize the body here, the seductress defiant, the woman yielding, to kiss and grasp and fuck and hold the one existing for you, for you, your pleasure, your bidding.

You’re the sweetest honey
The most bitter junk
The addiction I cannot shake